


Not Your Fault

by bextrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bextrash/pseuds/bextrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe grieves the death of her best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Fault

Monroe stood over the cliff, anxiously watching Sterling dangle over the side, being held up by a rope so thin it was practically dental floss. He was trying to save his friend, Mel, who had been stranded on the side of the cliff, hanging on by a small branch.  That’s all Sterling ever wanted to do. Save people. When everyone was still living in space on the Ark, he had always done the right thing and he always made an effort to help others whenever possible, even going as far as risking his own life to do so. Monroe was the opposite. She had always been very protective of her family, which included Sterling. Her family came before anyone else, no matter the cost. Yes, she cared about humanity. But if given the choice between saving her family and saving everyone on the Ark, let’s just say that the Arkers would be shit out of luck. That’s why Monroe and Sterling got along so well. They were polar opposites, and they balanced each other out. When Monroe got a bit out of hand, Sterling was the one to, ironically, keep her grounded. And when Sterling felt overwhelmed with all of his responsibilities, Monroe showed him how to let loose. Monroe was the fighter and Sterling was the savior. Two best friends against the world. Together forever. That’s how it had always been and that’s how it was always supposed to be.   
Sterling’s voice echoed against the mutilated remnants of Factory Station surrounding them as he reassured Mel. “You’ll be alright.“ He used his feet to get a grip on the side of the cliff, and stretched his hand out towards her. “I got you.” Those were his last words.  
 Somehow, the rope that had been holding him up, got cut loose, or untied, or something. No one really knows for sure how it happened. As he fell, Monroe desperately dove for the rope, nearly sending herself off the edge of the cliff as well. But nothing she attempted would’ve made a difference, she was too late. Sterling was gone; and he didn’t go peacefully. Murphy grabbed Monroe by her arm and yanked her away from the edge. But at that point, she didn’t care what happened to her. Her best friend, partner in crime, the last living member of her family, had just died right before her eyes. She was already coming up with a list of reasons why it was all her fault: she wasn’t watching the rope, she let him climb down there to begin with, and many others. She just couldn’t save him. And that fact alone was what killed her. Her throat closed up, her chest ached, she couldn’t even breath. The sound of Sterling’s bones cracking as he unceremoniously smashed into the rocks below, echoed in her ears.  Although, when she thought about it, it wasn’t really a crack; it was more of a splatter.   
A few days later, Monroe sat on an ice-cold table in the Med Wing at Camp Jaha, scanning her surroundings. Her thigh was now properly taken care of and tightly bandaged. She was getting easily distracted, most likely due to her newly-attained PTSD. She couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes. She glanced down, now admiring her raggedy shoes dangling from the table just like her best friend was dangling from the precipice.   
“So, do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Dr. Griffin entered the room.  Monroe lifted her head, which felt unusually heavy, and looked at Abby. She didn’t say a word and frankly, she didn’t have to. Her eyes spoke for her. And they were more broken than her mouth would ever care to admit.  Dr. Griffin spoke softly. “Well, the good news is that the antidote Lincoln gave us worked. The poison from the arrow is out of your system.”  Monroe silently nodded, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact.  "Unfortunately, you won’t be able to go out and fight alongside your friends for a while,” Dr. Griffin sugarcoated, awkwardly rifling through a small container of supplies nearby.   
“All my friends are dead,” Monroe said curtly.  Dr. Griffin hesitated, unsure of what to say. She looked at Monroe again. And for a moment, Monroe was no longer a delinquent. She wasn’t a soldier; or a criminal. She wasn’t just some kid. Abby saw Monroe the way that every single one of the 100 had ever wanted to be seen. In that moment, Monroe was a human being. With human feelings and human mistakes and human needs. All of the people from the Ark were, and in her few days spent on the ground so far, Abby was starting to realize that.   
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. It was the only thing she could think to say at the time.   
“It doesn’t matter,” Monroe started to get up. “I just want to-” Monroe placed her feet on the ground, but quickly collapsed, groaning in pain.   
“Monroe!” Dr. Griffin exclaimed, helping her get to a bench on the far wall. “You shouldn’t be walking just yet, alright? You have to give yourself time to rest.”  
 “I don’t have time!” Monroe exploded. For the first time since she got back to the camp, she made direct eye contact. “I need to get back out there. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. Sterling wouldn’t have-”  She stopped mid-sentence and looked down at the ground. She hadn’t been able to say his name. Monroe bit her bottom lip hard and held back the tears that were desperate to pour out. She attempted to get up again, frustratedly refusing Abby’s offer to help her. She managed to get to her feet and limp away on her own.  
As soon as she exited the room, she realized that it had gotten pretty late. Everyone was in their dorms already and most of the hall lights were off. She continued to trudge back to her dorm, until she heard someone quietly say her name. She hesitated, but reluctantly stopped. Monroe didn’t want to have contact with anyone. She couldn’t risk taking her anger out on them, but when the owner of the voice came into her field of view and she recognized who it was, that thought left her mind almost immediately.   
Harper, the little blonde badass with the breathtaking hazel eyes and unbreakable personality, casually approached her. While everyone else at camp was seriously intimidated by Monroe, so much to the point of simply avoiding her, Harper was one of the select few who could see past her tough, guarded facade. She saw the real Monroe, no matter how deep it had been buried over the years. Ironically, that fact alone was what made Monroe intimidated by Harper.   
"Hey, Marilyn,” Harper smirked adorably. She wasn’t even sure if that was Monroe’s real first name or not. It had started out as a joke while they were in the Skybox, but later on it became a nickname that only Harper was allowed to call her.  
“Hey,” Monroe replied, barely audible. Harper looked at her sympathetically, despite knowing how much she hated sympathy, or pity, as she preferred to call it. Harper opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, before coming closer and hugging Monroe tightly. At first, Monroe simply stood there, dumbfounded. Then, she slowly relaxed every muscle in her body and reciprocated the embrace. She placed her head on Harper’s shoulder, biting her lip once again to prevent the waterfall of tears waiting to cascade out, but this time she knew she couldn’t stop it. Then Harper finally spoke.  
 "I know exactly what you’re thinking and you’re wrong,” she paused. “What happened to Sterling was not your fault.”  
 This made Monroe finally fall apart. Tears flooded uncontrollably down her cheeks and onto Harper’s shoulder. She buried her face into the knotted, blonde locks as Harper held her tighter. She hated seeing Monroe like this, but she knew that if she had let her hold it in, the explosion, or more likely, the implosion, would’ve been much worse. Monroe’s legs began to tremble and she started to lose her balance. Harper continued to hold her as the they both sank to the ground, leaning against the cold wall. Her sobs slowly graduated to hiccups as she struggled to regain control of her breathing. Harper held Monroe’s head and lightly stroked her hair, trying to assist her in calming-down. Monroe sank further, her head finding a home on Harper’s lap.   
“It wasn't my fault,” Monroe whispered to herself between sniffles. “It was not my fault…. Not my fault… Not my fault.”  
 They stayed there all night. Harper peacefully watched Monroe as she drifted to sleep in her arms.   
“You're right,” she whispered softly, smiling down at Monroe. "It wasn't."


End file.
